


Qui Vive

by unsettled



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Clamps - Freeform, Control Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: Credence is wary of many things. But oh, it's so much better when he's not.





	

Credence is wary of pleasure. 

He takes it, leans into the touches Graves gives him with an enthusiasm, a hunger that's intoxicating. Invites it, sometimes, when he is feeling bold and there are pale things in his eyes. Even allows himself to enjoy it, on occasion, but for the most part, he steps back. Bites his lip and blushes and retreats, uncertain, ashamed. Scared. 

Before, Craves would have let him, would have watched him run and thought only that it was rather a shame. Credence was just a boy then, just another paper thin lead, a shape pointing the way to the future of his visions. Bowed down under the weight of misery and fear and shame, kept so tightly coiled within himself that Graves didn't think Credence would ever posses a thing he wanted, and that was a shame, yes, but he had other things to concern him. 

He'd made the mistake of overlooking just what was kept, so tightly coiled.

Credence retreats, and Graves follows, now, pushes in and shoves Credence headfirst into gratification, into pleasure, unwilling as he is to give into it. Gifts Credence the things he wants, the things he blushes to admit, still, despite everything, gives them to him, however much he flinches from them. “You think too much,” he tells him, amused, when Credence hesitates, holds back, like he's afraid he'll get burned if he reaches for what he wants. Like he thinks, somehow, that Graves will not allow him to have them. Graves kisses his palms. “Let go,” he suggests, “let yourself loosen your grip, just a little.” Credence shudders.

“No,” he says, turning his head away. “It's too dangerous.” 

“It's not,” Graves replies, pulling Credence closer, hands sliding down his sides. 

Credence startles, bites his lip when Graves leans forward and nuzzles past Credence's unbuttoned shirt, presses his lips just above his navel. “It's too dangerous,” he repeats, leaning back. “Don't -”

Graves lets him reel out, a bit, fingertips still resting on Credence's hips. “It's really not, Credence.” 

Credence looks down at him, brow furrowed, his lips a tight, thin line. “I don't understand,” he says, brittle, confused. “You know what you – what we risk, which might happen, every time you...” he trails off, blushes. 

“How difficult is it to understand?” Graves says, eyebrows raised. “I enjoy making you feel such things, Credence. I find great pleasure in touching you, in watching you, in making you come,” and Credence twitches, looks at him, his eyes _wanting_. “Don't pretend you don't like it just as much, that you don't enjoy doing those very same things to me.”

“I don't,” Credence says, but it's not a denial. “I don't,” he stops, swallows. “Don't deny it.” Raises one hand to Graves' face, barely touching him. “It's dangerous,” he says, almost pleading, “dangerous to want such things. To want to feel such things. To want. I have to be careful, have to make sure I don't lose control, and those things make me want-”

Graves turns his face into Credence's palm, faintly sweaty. “Want what, Credence?”

“Dangerous things,” he says, weakly, and when Graves tugs, he comes to him, easily, lets Graves bring him up, over the edge, again. 

But he doesn't let go.

*

Credence understands pain.

He doesn't seem to enjoy it, as far as Graves can tell, but all the same, he accepts it, quietly, almost calmly, sinks into it with something almost like relief. 

There's a cold part of Graves that considers that, carefully, turns over and around the thought that Credence does not fear pain. Does not flinch from it, as he does from indulgence. 

Does not crack his control, even a little. 

Graves keeps that thought, worries away at it, and the next time Credence leans into him, the next time Credence lets Graves draw him in, he tightens his grip. Digs his fingers in, until Credence hisses out a sharp breath, looks at him, startled and uncertain. 

“Is it easier for you,” he asks, “like that?” Curls his fingers, a little more, until his nails are digging in as well. “Do you feel so much safer in that old trap?”

Credence's eyes widen, but he does not move away. 

“No one here,” Graves says, almost angry, “would hurt you like that. Would even try. No one.”

“I know,” Credence says, still, calm. 

“Do you?” Graves snaps, anger unfurling in him now. “Or is that the problem, that you miss it?”

Credence tilts his head, slowly, his hands coming up to cradle Graves' face, an uncomfortable mimicry. “I know,” he says, evenly. “No one here would. No one here would even try. And I know why.” He steps closer, tilting Graves' head back. “They know, as well as I, what would happen if they did,” and there are dark wisps around him, nearly transparent and slowly, slowly spinning, but there. 

They stay, frozen, like that, Graves' hands still too tight on Credence's hips, for an immeasurable span of time, Graves watching the tendrils of mist twist and grow. They ebb, slowly, and Credence sighs, lets him go. 

“I don't miss it,” he says, “but I don't fear it happening again. I don't worry over what my reaction might be.”

And, as Graves watches, Credence carefully pulls himself back together, eyes clearing, the room lightening around him. Carefully tucks all the dangerous parts of himself away, grasped tightly. 

“Credence,” he says, slowly, ideas unfurling in his mind, indistinct. “Your control is impeccable, now.” And, when Credence shakes his head, sharply, “It _is_. You have perfect control over the things you need to.”

“Not over everything,” Credence says.

“You don't need to have control over everything. No, listen,” he says as Credence huffs and starts to pull away. “You are allowed to let go sometimes, you know. You can let go without undoing everything, without being a danger. You can,” he insists.

“It's safer not to,” Credence says, softly. “It's better...”

“What, exactly,” Graves asks, “are you afraid of? That you'll destroy me? You wouldn't, Credence, I know that. You know that, surely.”

Credence shudders, closes his eyes. “But I might want to,” and when he opens his eyes again, they are dark, dark, dark. “And you couldn't stop me.”

“I wouldn't have to,” Graves says, wanting, dizzy with it, thoughtless. “I wouldn't want to. Credence...” 

And Credence drops, his knees buckling, falling against Graves as Graves pulls him in. “How can you say that,” he whispers, “how can you want that?”

“Just as you do,” Graves tells him, and Credence shakes his head, curls into him. 

“I promise,” Graves murmurs into Credence's hair, “the world will not end if you loosen your control just a little. If you enjoy loosening it, just a little.” 

Thinks, but does not say, _And even if it did, it might be worth it._ Says, instead, “Trust me.”

*

“Let me try something,” he tells Credence, and when Credence arches an eyebrow at him, smiles. “Something I think you'll like.”

“That doesn't reassure me,” Credence mutters, a little tired, a little cranky, a little worn around the edge. A little frayed in his control. 

He follows, all the same. 

Graves takes him to his bedroom, not Credence's, lets Credence undo the first few buttons of his shirt, tugging at his tie, but no more, while Graves strips him completely. Lays him out on the bed, and takes Credence's hand, presses it to the metal of the headboard, until his fingers wrap around it, carefully. Does the same with the other, Credence's head turning to watch him, looking up at his hands, spread above his head. “Keep them there,” Graves tells him.

“You could make me,” Credence says, with a sidelong glance, his voice light, curious.

Graves leans forward, presses his lips to the thin, pale skin of Credence's wrist. “No,” he says. 

Credence turns his head, tilts his chin up, and Graves obliges, sliding a hand beneath his head to stroke the fine, curling hair, kissing him. Credence arches, pressing up against him, bare and lovely. 

“What if,” he asks, eyes closing, lashes dark against his cheek. “What if I can't? What if...” he trails off, biting his lip.

“Let go,” Graves says, firm, and Credence's eyes fly open.

His hands tighten on the headboard. 

“I cannot truly hurt you, Credence,” Graves tells him. “I cannot make you do anything.” Ducks his head down until he's murmuring against Credence's neck, warm. “No one can. You need do nothing you do not wish to. Don't be afraid of what you can do.” He reaches up, rubs his thumb along the pulse of Credence's wrist. “All you have to do is let go.” 

Credence nods, slight. 

Graves sits up, straddling Credence, and lets him watch as he takes off his vest, his tie, as he rolls up his sleeves; watches for himself as Credence's cheeks tint, as his lips grow darker and his eyes turn golden brown. 

He summons the bag of clamps from the table, rests them by Credence's hip and takes a small handful, gleaming and silvery, sets them between Credence's upraised arm and face. Credence turns his head, curious, eyeing them and they slide down on the sheets, disappearing into his hair. Graves laughs and gathers them back up, tangling in Credence's hair. “What are they?” Credence asks.

Graves holds one up, small, shining between his thumb and finger. “Just toys,” he says. Runs his fingers up the smooth skin of Credence's inner arms, a tempting line from inner elbow to shoulder, one of the few places not marked by any scar. Pinches his skin, just above Credence's elbow, where veins run dark and close to the surface, and sets the clamp to it, carefully. Credence twitches, barely. He leaves a line of clamps, marching up the inside of Credence's arm, solidly seated, and Credence doesn't make a sound, just watches intently, as Graves runs his finger lightly along them. 

“Do they hurt?”

“No,” Credence says, but it's almost a question. Graves smiles, and duplicates his work on Credence's other arm. Flicks them, this time, still lightly, and Credence hisses a little, his brow furrowed. “It feels ...” He shakes his head. 

“Mmmm,” Graves agrees, and runs his hands down Credence's chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Credence sighs, presses up into him. They're as pale as the rest of him, barely pink; Graves rolls one between his fingers, plays with it until Credence is squirming, until his breath comes out in a gasp when Graves finally sets a clamp to his skin. Not on his nipple, no, not yet, but around, right outside that raised circle of skin, above and below and to each side, radiating away. Again, he repeats the process with on Credence's other nipple, caging them both. “Does that hurt?” he asks, the tip of his thumbnail barely, barely brushing Credence's nipple.

“Yes?” Credence says, and it's definitely a question. 

“Good,” Graves tells him, and carefully, slowly, sets a clamp to each nipple. Credence _whines_.

He lets him breath through that, running his hands up and down his sides, not touching the clamps or the skin around them, watching as they shiver with each sharp breath Credence takes. Leans down and presses his face to the hollow of Credence's stomach, still too slender, and waits, waits until Credence's breathing has slowed, quiet again, matching his own. “Very good,” he says into Credence's skin, and laughs when he starts. 

He takes his time, adorning Credence. Places clamps up along his sides, along the crease of legs, down the inside of his thighs. Delicately, between his legs, high on his balls, caging them, on the thin, tight skin between balls and his tightly clenched hole, nestled at the base of his cock, underneath, and carefully, so carefully, Credence making desperate, high pitched sounds, cock twitching in Graves' hand as he holds it, sets them to his foreskin, drawing it up, a precise line along the top of his cock. When he lets go, it rises, heavily, presses against Credence's stomach, clamps trapped between flesh, and Credence moans. 

Graves leans forward, carefully, over Credence, taking care not to brush any of the bits of metal. “Does it hurt?” he asks, amused. 

“Yes!” Credence hisses, wide eyed, panting, hands clenching around the metal of the headboard. “Yes, yes,” and Graves cuts him off with a kiss. 

“Open your mouth,” he says when he pulls back, and Credence obeys, instantly; he's not as quick when Graves says, smirking, “Stick out your tongue,” but he does, all the same. Credence winces when he sets a clamp to it, and blushes, fiercely, when he discovers he can't close his mouth properly, metal clicking against his teeth. He turns his head to the side, trying to hide, and Graves chuckles at that. Presses a kiss to the hollow under Credence's ear. 

“Do you want to let go?” he asks, and Credence shivers. 

He sits backs, and looks, just looks, at Credence, spread at beneath him, displayed, pinned down by bits of metal, trembling and covered with a fine sheen of sweat, holding on so tight.

Credence makes a sound, a choked noise that might be a word. “What?” Graves asks, teasing, and Credence – Credence-

Credence turns his head back, and looks at him, directly at him, eyes clouded ever so slightly, and raises his chin. He should look ridiculous, but he doesn't, he doesn't at all, and Graves takes the challenge for what it is, heart beating fast in his chest. Watches, as Credence uncurls his fingers, palms still pressed flat to the metalwork, but not clinging. 

He's playing with more than Credence, now. Always, if he's being honest, but Credence rarely lets is show so blatantly. Rarely _offers_ it, so. And never, ever, lets go.

Not like this. 

Graves isn't careful now, when he runs his hands over Credence, when he brushes against the clamps and presses them deeper, pulls them, twists and flicks and plays with the tight, oversensitive skin between them, listening to all the sounds Credence makes, each cry and moan and whimper different from the last. Isn't careful when he kneels over Credence, pressing his weight against the clamps and Credence gasps, sharp, and pushes up into him. They lose a couple that way, twisted off between their bodies, and Graves knows of each one, feels it when Credence jerks as each pulls off. 

It's beautiful, the way Credence reacts. The way Credence holds on. 

He pulls back, again, slide down this time until he's resting between Credence's legs, hands curled around his hipbones, thumbs brushing at the clamps in the tender skin of his hips. Nuzzles up against Credence's cock, the bare underside of it, dark and smooth and pressed so tightly against the skin, wet lines of precome sliding down it. Credence shudders, and then groans, low and deep, as Graves licks up the length of him, wide and wet and hot, mouths at the shaft, at the salty, musky taste of Credence. Closes his lips around the head of Credence's cock, carefully, and presses his tongue to it, sucks, and Credence sobs beneath him, thrusting up, so desperate. 

“Please,” he hears, messy and wet and almost indecipherable, “ _please!_ ”

Pops his mouth off Credence, and the sound Credence makes is harsh, perfect. He tugs at a clamp on Credence's inner thigh, listens to him whine. “Do you want them off?” he asks. Releases it, gentle, and Credence gasps as sensation floods back, too much and too quickly, a flash of pain. “Shall I pull them off,” he says, moving on to the next one, pulling, pulling, skin stretched out tight and whitened, the clamp slowly sliding off, accompanied by Credence's cries, his trembling. “No?” Graves says, looking up, catching Credence's gaze as he looks down, wide and wet eyed. 

“Do you think,” he says, lips pressed against the reddened skin newly revealed, “that it hurts less if it is slow?” and releases another, incrementally, opening around the flesh until it's barely brushing it, and still, Credence keens, long and drawn out and going on long after the clamp is gone. Graves presses a kiss to the bruised looking mark, and Credence flinches away. “It doesn't, does it?” 

“Fast?” Credence whispers, lisps around the clamp on his tongue.

Graves hums. “Well,” he says. Sets his fingers to another clamp. “Let's see,” and opens it, quickly, yanks it away and Credence screams. 

Releases another, and another, all down the line of Credence's inner thigh, one after another and Credence sobs and writhes and stutters out “stop, stop, stop”. 

Graves stops. Licks the pinched skin, reddened and raw from the clamps, and relishes the choked sound Credence makes. “They have to come off,” he says, “one way or another.”

“No,” Credence moans, “no,” but he nods, brokenly. 

He takes them off, slow and fast and Credence flinches at each one, lets out loud cries and whines and moans at every single one, from the ones lined up along his sides to the ones nestled in the hollows of his hips to the ones radiating from his nipples. When he finally removes the ones directly on Credence's nipples, he can't help himself, at the sight of them, swollen and dark, dark red, can't stop himself from closing his mouth around each in turn, licking and sucking and listening to Credence wail, twisting against him. He could stay here, the rest of the day, stringing Credence out like this; but no, there are even better things yet to come, he knows. 

He ducks back down, runs his hands over the insides of Credence's thighs, the marks still red and deeply imprinted. There's one, a gleam of silver tucked carefully behind his balls - _flinch_ \- and another, on the fine skin at the base of his cock - _flinch_ \- and three, no, four, as he pulls Credence's cock down, away from the sticky pool of precome on his stomach, four, down the top of his cock, and he opens them, tosses them aside, as quickly as he can, one two three four, immediately followed by his mouth, sliding down around Credence, settling him at the back of Graves' throat. Credence howls, and jerks, so hard the bed bangs against the wall, loud, and thrusts up, gagging Graves, again, and again, and again, and Graves slides his hand down, to the last two, tight at the base of Credence's balls. Toys, for a moment, while Credence gasps, then opens them, letting them fall from his hands as he swallows, seed spilling out of his mouth as Credence convulses, coming, black tendrils at the edges of Graves' vision. 

When Credence finishes, when his uncontrolled thrusts into Graves' mouth have stopped, when even the fine little twitches of his skin have stilled, he shifts. Crawls up, above Credence, who stares at him, blank, spun out, eyes mostly white and swirling. He plucks the last few clamps from the undersides of Credence's arms, gently, and Credence barely flinches, the slightest of shivers his only reaction to each release. Graves reaches up, thumb pressed to Credence bottom lip, just below that gleam of metal, and Credence's tongue slides out, wet, bloody, silver clamp streaked and hard to grasp. When he removes it, Credence licks his lips, smearing them with red, watching Graves, feral. 

He waits. 

He waits, and nothing strikes him down, nothing comes boiling out of Credence, dark and heavy, so he reaches upwards further and gathers Credence's wrists in his hands, coaxes his hands away from the headboard, where there are perfect fingerprints, molded as though always there. He pulls Credence against him, and he curls in, limp, a heavy weight against Graves. Nestles his head under Graves' chin, and sighs, turning his face into Graves' collarbone, lips leaving dark marks on the white of Graves' shirt. 

They lay, silent, for a while, Graves listening the slow beat of Credence's heart, feeling it through his palms. He thread his fingers lightly through Credence's hair, fine, filled with wisps of dark mist. Slowly, gradually, Credence returns to him, twitches, abortive little movements, and draws in a deep breath. Tilts his head back and presses his lips, gentle, to the edge of Graves' jaw. “Sir,” he says, quietly, content. 

“Credence,” Graves says in return, just as quietly, and feels the edges of Credence's mouth curl against his neck. 

Credence shifts alongside him, pressing in closer, half on Graves. Hums, a pleased little sound, that pulls a sharp breath from Graves, and stills. Runs his hand down, lays his hand flat against the front of Graves' trousers, right over his cock, still painfully, achingly hard. “You didn't?” he asks, and a little darker in tone than Graves is used to. 

“I was a bit occupied,” Graves says, a bit breathless as Credence's hand moves, slides over him, teasing pressure. Nips at the underside of Graves' chin as his hand tugs at buttons and zipper and Graves groans, hands tightening on Credence. Credence, whose hand is working its way in, past fabric, so close to touching him, so close-

He stops, stills completely, and Graves makes an utterly embarrassing sound, “Credence,” he breathes out, “Merlin, Credence, please!”

Credence shifts, props himself up on one elbow, just above Graves, meeting his eyes. Watches Graves, as he pulls his hand out of Graves' pants, accompanied by a low, moaned 'no'. 

“Like this,” Credence says, wrapping his hand around Graves' wrist, pulling his hand down until it's pressed over his cock. “Go on,” Credence whispers, and Graves doesn't need to be told twice. 

He takes himself in hand, breath escaping him in a huff, his head tilting back as he arches into his touch, eyes falling closed, images of Credence, as he was moments ago, flashing in his mind.

“No,” Credence says, sharply. “Look at me.”

Graves opens his eyes, looks. Looks, and cannot look away, entangled in Credence's gaze, in the way he watches, focused and distant, like Graves is some sort of experiment, something curious and strange, pinned beneath him. Credence looms over him, and while there is no sign of his obscurus, nothing, he feels inexplicably laid bare, terror roiling up inside him. 

But it doesn't stop him from thrusting, even harder, into his hand, from running his thumb over the head of his cock, slick and oversensitive, doesn't stop him from clinging to Credence with his other hand, panting and shivering, feeling his cheeks heat as Credence watches, unaffected, his eyes dark, dark, dark. Doesn't stop him from coming, the final push over the edge catching him almost by surprise, eyes fluttering shut. “No,” Credence repeats, harsh, _”look at me”_ , and Graves' eyes snap back open, caught, trapped, helpless beneath Credence. 

He holds Credence's gaze, long after his breathing has evened out, blinking heavily, feeling the dampness of his trousers and shirt cool. Holds it, fighting not to turn his head, as Credence reaches up, brushes his thumb along the edge of Graves mouth. Smiles, faintly. 

“Stunning,” he says, still, still watching, and Graves shivers, completely unprepared. It's his place to praise, to tell Credence how well he's done, how glorious he is, not his to receive, and he doesn't know what to do about the sick, hot feeling that turns over in his stomach. 

He doesn't have to do anything, though, because Credence drops back down, burrowing up against him. “You were right,” he says, tone completely shifted from moments ago. “The world didn't end, did it.”

It takes Graves a moment, a shaky breath, but he replies, eventually. “I did promise.”


End file.
